I hadn't thought to ask for in a very long time.
Humanity.
The allure was stronger than I would have imagined, as memories plucked at my heartstrings: Sunshine. Summer boat rides on the lake. Morning jogs in the chill of spring. Shopping at noon on a Saturday. Spending my remaining human years with my family, instead of living long past them. Finishing my dissertation, becoming a professor.
Having children.
Generally, leaving my life as a vampire behind.
Leaving Ethan behind. For even if we stayed together despite our differences, I would age and die, and he would not. I would leave him alone to face the centuries, to find another. I would leave him in the hands of another Sentinel, someone who would have the responsibility of watching over him, of keeping him safe.
And not just Ethan. My grandfather. Mallory. My nieces and nephews. Their children, and their children's children.
I wasn't leaving their lives to chance. Not when I had the choice.
I had a choice . . . and I took it.
I picked up the syringe and hurried to catch up with the rest of them.
"Jonah," I said, getting his attention and handing it to him.
He looked quizzically up at me.
"For Brooklyn," I explained. "Maybe Dr. Gianakous can use it to find a cure for her condition."
He smiled. "Thanks, Merit."
The deed done, I took Ethan's hand, and walked into the life I'd chosen.
-
Malik met us in the foyer when we walked into the House.
"Congratulations on a successful mission," he said. "And Lakshmi Rao is on the phone."
"I swear to God, it never ends!" Ethan roared.
"Not when you're immortal," Malik agreed. "That's actually the point."
I covered my mouth to stifle a laugh, but Ethan got the gist and gave me a withering look.
"Better she call you than show up at your door unannounced," I reminded them, then glanced at Malik and pinched two fingers together. "Could you stall her for just a minute?"
He smiled. "For you, Sentinel, of course," he said, then disappeared down the hallway again.
Ethan looked at me expectantly. "Well, Sentinel?"
Ethan and I were both coming to grips with the fact that we weren't human, that our relationship would never be as simple as human relationships were. That we were supernaturals, and for the foreseeable future, drama would be an inevitable part of our lives. But that didn't mean it wasn't important to remember the little things, to make time for ourselves and our relationship, and to cherish what we had.
"We missed Valentine's Day," I said. "Even if we're vampires, I wanted to give us something special. I thought I'd arrange dinner before dawn."
"Meaning you'll have Margot order pizza."
I rolled my eyes. "No. Something better. Something special."
He looked at me for a moment.
"Benefit of the doubt," I dryly said.
"All right, Sentinel. You have your second chance at Valentine's Day. But I'll warn you in advance. I'm starving . . . and not just for food."
That comment made me light-headed enough that it was a miracle I didn't fall over in the foyer. That would not have helped the dinner planning, which was going to require a bit of teamwork.
-
I raced upstairs to the third floor and knocked on Lindsey's door. I found her toweling off from the shower.
"What's up, toots?"
"I need a favor."
"Oh?"
"I'd like to salvage Valentine's Day. But I need to do it within the next couple of hours. I've already decided on dinner - I can handle that on my own. I need something else. A treat."
Lindsey frowned, walking around her room a bit as she pondered the question. "Stores are closed, so there's no time for that. You've already planned dinner, so that's out, unless we can spice dinner up a bit?"
She turned back at me and winged up her eyebrows suggestively.
"He already gets that," I said.
She chortled. "Empathic, remember? Well aware of the twists and turns of your romantic life."
My cheeks warmed.
"No," she said. "I have something else in mind. Something Margot can help us with?"
"Oh?"
"It's simple," she said with a wink. "We'll let him eat cake."
-
Lindsey got dressed, after which I followed her downstairs to the kitchen. Ethan's door was still closed, but the magic seeping beneath the door didn't seem too crazed.
When she pushed open the kitchen door, we found the room empty but for Margot, who stood in front of one of her giant stoves in her chef's whites, her dark bob of hair peeking beneath her hat. She stirred a small saucepot with a tiny whisk, her gaze darting between